The Billows Smooth and Bright
by Celtic Knot
Summary: Two old friends meet again in the afterlife, and find that death has given them a very different perspective. Inspired by a painting on DeviantArt called "Beyond the Sea" by PhoenixFuryBane.


**The Billows Smooth and Bright**

The sea sparkled in the bright sunlight. A breeze carried cool, salty spray, refreshing in the warmth of the afternoon, to the shore. The cries of sea birds floated down from an endless blue sky. Soft, silky sand cradled his body.

Mordin Solus struggled to remember where he was. The last thing he could recall was… Tuchanka. Yes, that was it. The genophage cure. Bypassing the sabotage to the Shroud to distribute it.

Knowing it would be the last thing he ever did.

 _Had to be me. Someone else might have gotten it wrong._

He remembered the barely restrained grief on Shepard's face as the elevator began to ascend. He remembered successfully circumventing the malware in the Shroud's systems. He remembered the triumph of this critical mission, accomplished.

He remembered the terminals exploding around him. A brief flash of searing pain, and then—

And then nothing. And then waking up here, to the sounds and smells of the seashore.

He sat up slowly, taking stock of his injuries. To his great surprise, he found none. He was entirely unharmed. In fact, he felt better than he had in years. He felt… young. Renewed.

Climbing to his feet and brushing off the sand that clung to him, Mordin looked around. He could find no indication of what planet he was on, nor of how he'd gotten here. There was only the endless stretch of white beach to either side, rippling ocean billows spread to the horizon before him, and a grassy, green cliff sloping gently down to meet the sand behind. An aesthetically pleasing, even relaxing, vista, but an uninformative one.

One thing was certain: he was no longer on Tuchanka.

Mordin tried to take some readings from his surroundings, but found, to his mild and momentary consternation, that his omni-tool was missing. Under normal circumstances, this would have been cause for serious concern. But today, in the sunshine and the sea air, all the aches and stiffnesses of old age gone, he couldn't really bring himself to care. It just wasn't important anymore. But curiosity was in his nature, and he still didn't know where he was.

The tide was coming in. The water rolled further and further up the beach with each small, demure wave. One such wave deposited a large, well-formed seashell at Mordin's feet.

He bent down to pick it up. His hand barely spanned half its circumference. It had a pleasing shape, wide in the middle and tapered at both ends, spiraling in on itself as its pastel streaks of pink and orange faded to a pure, smooth ivory. It was as clean as only the ocean could wash it, scoured of debris by salt and sand.

 _Would have liked to run tests on the seashells._

It had been a bit of a joke, intended to coax a smile out of his former captain and crewmates, to lighten the weight of a final farewell. But it had fallen flat. Tears had welled up in Shepard's eyes, streaming down her face as she'd slipped inexorably out of sight.

Now, though, it sounded like a good idea. Perhaps the seashell could yield some clues as to his location. But there were few tests he could run with no equipment. So with no data suggesting a specific course of action, Mordin turned to his right and wandered along the beach, vaguely hoping to run into someone who might have some answers.

He could have gone inland—the cliff wasn't high, and there were plenty of easy routes to the top—but the ocean was so lovely.

Before long, he did spot someone. It was difficult to make out details at this distance, but Mordin could definitely identify a head, arms, legs. Human, perhaps, or asari. Maybe batarian. He hurried forward.

The figure turned toward him and raised a hand in greeting.

Mordin stopped short, close enough now to recognize him. He frowned. "Thane?"

Thane Krios bowed slightly, then tucked his hands behind his back, a warm smile on his face. "Doctor Solus, it is good to see you. You look well."

Mordin eyed him critically. "As do you." He did indeed look well—better, in fact, than Mordin had ever seen him.

Thane had always had a serenity about him, an easy grace that belied his ill health. Now, however, his posture was truly relaxed. The tightness around his eyes—which had often been the only outward indication of the near-constant pain his disease had caused him—was gone. And his breathing came easier, free of the rasp and rattle of deteriorating lungs. He seemed suddenly a new man, vibrant and healthy and… even happy.

It made no sense whatsoever. "Surprised, to meet you here," Mordin said. "You were confined to hospital, yes?"

"I was." Thane drew a slow, deep breath, closing his eyes as if relishing the simple ability to do so without pain. "I must admit that it is, in many ways, a relief to finally find myself here."

"Ah, but where is _here?_ How did we arrive? How long have you been here?"Mordin asked. He began to pace, rapid-fire questions spilling forth as his mind raced. "Fascinating conundrum. Should be more concerned." He stopped and pressed a finger to his lips. "And yet, disinclined to worry."

Thane hummed thoughtfully, gazing out over the ocean, then addressed his last question first. "Time has… very little meaning here," he said. "How long has it been, do you think, since you awakened on this shore?"

Mordin opened his mouth to respond—then paused as he suddenly realized he could not give a definitive answer. "Uncertain," he said. "Minutes. Hours, perhaps." He inhaled slowly through his nose as he tried to work through the implications of his own words. "Difficult to determine."

Thane nodded. "Indeed. I, myself, have stood upon this beach for what seems an eternity—or perhaps a day." He raised his brow ridge and looked Mordin directly in the eyes. "Yet I learned of your death some weeks before my own."

That revelation certainly should have startled him, but Mordin felt it more as a confirmation of that of which he was already, perhaps subconsciously, aware. "Ah. Was wondering how I survived explosion of Shroud on Tuchanka." He offered Thane a wry smile. "Would seem I did not."

Of course, this raised any number of additional questions. "As scientist, never gave much thought to spiritual matters," he mused aloud. "Gave lip service. Never really prayed. Not certain I expected an afterlife at all. Curious, that we should share one."

"Perhaps not so curious," said Thane mildly. "When I was very young, early in my training under the Compact, I was taught to pray for forgiveness after making a kill. I asked a priest once why our gods would care if I killed an alien, and he explained to me that our gods were also theirs. 'Others may call Them by alien names and paint Them with alien faces,' he said, 'but They remain the same gods over all the worlds.'"

"Religion. Metaphor. Different for different cultures. Wars fought over whose is 'right.'" Mordin shook his head, gesturing to the landscape around them. "Truth of situation less open to… interpretation."

Thane shrugged. "Most, if not all, religions have some concept of an afterlife. And what is religion but our limited attempts to understand that which cannot yet be understood? Rather than think there is a different hereafter for every faith on every world, I find it far more plausible that all of these different interpretations should point instead to one truth."

"Hmm. Intriguing hypothesis." Mordin turned the seashell over in his hands as he turned Thane's words over in his mind. "Reasoning sound. Difficult to test."

With a gentle finger, he traced the open end of one of the chimney-like projections that marched in a spiraling ridge around the shell's widest point. The tip had broken off, its once-jagged edge worn smooth by salt and sand. Though it had been cool and damp when he'd picked it up, the sun had dried it off and warmed it until it felt almost alive in his hands.

Suddenly, their philosophical debate seemed quite pointless. They could discuss the issue forever—literally, it seemed—but no matter what they concluded, nothing would change. They could share no insights with the world of the living.

The living. It still made his head spin somewhat to contemplate the fact that he was no longer counted among them.

And it was strangely difficult to force his mind to dwell on the chaos and destruction he'd left behind. The Reapers seemed far off and unimportant, a footnote in the history of Time. The memory of them felt… small, somehow, from this perspective. The way an adult looks back on the things that concerned him most as a child, and sees how insignificant those worries were, in the grand scheme. The way he might look at a child now, battling those same childish problems, and smile, wanting to help, but knowing that the child must work through it himself if he is to grow.

He understood the larger picture. Looking out over the ocean, he could see the cycles of Time spread out before him, spiraling out and out like the curves of the shell in his hands. Themes and lessons repeating themselves in pastel stripes of pink and orange. All of it, clear and bright, scoured clean by salt and sand.

Glancing over at Thane, he met his eyes and knew that he saw it, too.

The sea sparkled in the bright sunlight. A breeze carried cool, salty spray, refreshing in the warmth of the afternoon, to the shore. The cries of sea birds floated down from an endless blue sky. And all was peace.


End file.
